


old habits die hard

by gracedbybattle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian Culture, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Mission, Safehouses, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedbybattle/pseuds/gracedbybattle
Summary: Throughout the war, Republic Commandos are always in high demand and revered for their ability to do the impossible. Skirata just wants them all to come back in one piece.Holed up post-op with one of their own injured, Kal’s boys try to catch some rest.
Kudos: 34





	old habits die hard

**Author's Note:**

> I re-read the Republic Commando series lately and have way too many feelings about these boys.

The air is cool and quiet enough that Kal can’t miss the whimper, however stifled it is. 

The stress of the past few days have bled completely from his frame, another successful op that seemed impossible, but not for Kal Skirata’s boys. Their ability to get in and out effectively is a point of pride among them, but Kal just appreciates that they all come home in one piece. 

And this op, successful though it may have been, did not leave them all unscathed. 

He drains the last of his drink and sets the glass against the table with a _thunk_. He’s been out here, alone with his thoughts and his drink, for a while after the boys shuffled off to bed. Awake and waiting, unable to completely shake the day from his mind enough to sleep. 

There are two cots against the wall behind him. The one closest is for him and empty. The other is currently occupied by Ordo and Mereel, both sprawled together and deeply asleep. The Null ARCs are no stranger to sharing space and take comfort from bunking down together. Kal offered them his own cot, but isn’t surprised they’ve opted to abandon it so their _buir_ can have a place to sleep. If he doesn't take the empty cot before the night is out, Ordo and Mereel will know and they'll worry. He glances at them, to ensure the noise hasn’t stirred either, but their breathing is deep and even.

Satisfied, he slips into the closest room after the source of noise.

Three of the four members of the Omega squad are asleep, Niner and Darman in their separate bunks. Darman is under a thin blanket, one arm tucked under his head and facing the door. A blaster is visible under his bunk, like he still can’t shake the feeling of an impending attack. It’s a similar sentiment, one that’s kept Kal awake past the point of needing to sleep. He looks exhausted, dark, deep circles under his eyes. Kal wonders how much is a result of stress from the last few months of combat and how much is worry over his brother. Niner, by contrast, is propped up against his bunk in the corner of the wall, arms folded over his arms and his head resting on his chest. His head is lolling a bit as he inhales and exhales. As their de-facto leader, he likely fell asleep watching over his brothers, too exhausted to stay fully awake.

Atin is slumped against Fi's bed in the center of the room, a blanket draped over his legs and limbs sprawled along the ground. Kal doesn’t think a position like that could possibly be comfortable, but his boys seem to be able to sleep anywhere, any way. If he slept that way, he'd spend the next day with a screaming hip and an insufferable back, not to mention his ankle, but the boys never seem that affected. He makes a mental note to have a few pain stims on hand in the morning, just in case, and shifts his attention to the bed. 

Fi is halfway awake and feigning sleep, curled into himself on the bed. Under the blanket, Kal can see painful tremors wracking his frame, forehead tight and teeth clenched. Anyone else may have passed over without a second thought, but Kal knows all his boys and he knew it was Fi whimpering the moment he heard it. 

He steps over Atin carefully, crouching down to eye level with the cot and ignores the way his knees and bad ankle protest. He sets a hand against Fi’s’ shoulder and shakes once, gently. 

“Fi,” he calls softly, careful to keep his voice low to not wake the others. “Fi. Wake up, son.”

Fi shudders at the contact, turning into Kal’s hand and his brown eyes blink open, blearily. 

“Sarge,” he rasps, voice raw. 

There’s a blaster hole in Fi’s side, black and painful under a clean white bandage. It took some old school field medicine to clot the bleeding and a hell of a lot of gauze to staunch the flow. They’re out of bacta, Jusik is on his way to procure some before morning, but for now this is all they have. Straight off of stims from the op, Kal can only give him light painkillers, otherwise his racing heart might just stop. It makes him sick. 

Niner and Darman held him down while Kal and Ordo burned the wound out to prevent him from bleeding to death and kill any potential infection. Cauterization is practical, effective. It didn’t make it any easier to hold his trashing body down while Atin and Mereel watched. Kal shakes the image from his mind. 

“How bad is it?” he asks, point blank. 

Fi stiffens at the question and shakes his head quick. 

“I’ve had worse,” Fi lies around a wobbly smile, going for his usual humor and coming up completely short. His fingers are twisted in the thin blanket, grasping it tightly. His bravado is commendable, but it’s a load of _osik_. 

“Cut that,” Kal retorts, reaching up a hand to run it through Fi’s short cropped hair. “Tell me like it is, _adi’ka_.”

He can see Fi swallow apprehensively. The clones are bred to be tough and refuse to admit to weakness. A hurt clone is a useless clone, and an easy justification for decommission. Generally, his boys feel safe around him enough to be frank, but old habits die hard. Kal squeezes the shoulder again. Touch grounds his boys, always has, since they were young. Fi shuts his eyes for a moment, shudders, and then meets his gaze again. 

“Can’t sleep,” Fi admits, very soft. “Hurts.”

The admission is so trusting, it never fails to make Kal ache. He doesn’t deserve the trust that these boys have in him, to have their back, to protect them. And today, he failed. They made a mistake, missed a blind spot that let one of the _shabuir_ take a cheap shot at his boys. Had Fi not seen it first, and dived into Atin to take the shot in the side, Atin would have caught a blot in the head. He’d be dead. 

It’s no wonder that his squad are unwilling to be more than a few strides away. It was as close a call as they can walk away from and still be alive. The boys all handle trauma incredibly well, but a near-death experience and the tortuous medical treatment has them all rattled. The rest of the team is unwilling to be anything but close by. Atin has been practically glued to Fi’s side ever since. 

Kal glances at his chrono, and slips a waiting medpack out of his coat. It’s far enough out from the original drop now that he can get another sedative, enough to let him sleep. Fi watches him, rapt with attention and nods when he hovers over the skin. His teeth are clenched, jaw tight with pain. Kal doesn’t hesitate, he quickly dispenses the hypo and tucks the cylinder back into his pocket. 

Fi breathing is still harsh, so Kal reaches out to grasp his hand. Fi drops his white-knuckled grip on the blanket to take it and squeezes, holds it steady while they wait for the hypo to kick in. The boys have a much higher metabolism, it takes the low-sedative a moment longer to kick in than usual. Kal holds him in a solid grip, sitting in silence until he can tell Fi’s breath is evening out. 

“Better?” he asks, tracking the younger man’s expression. The skin around his eyes is more relaxed, a little less pinched. Kal can't help thinking it's only a temporary respite, a band-aid on a blaster wound. There’s only so much respite the hypo will bring them. It’s relief isn’t indefinite. He just hopes Jusik can be back with enough bacta to get them out of here. 

“Yes, Sarge,” Fi affirms, dropping his hand to the sheet and tugging the blanket a little higher over himself. His voice sounds steadier, normal. “Better.”

“Think you can rest now?” 

Fi blinks at him, eyes already dropping. He’ll be asleep soon. They all need the rest, him most of all. “Just cold, sir,” he responds, truthfully. There’s a shake in his frame that has nothing to do with pain. Their hovel is chilly. There’s nothing to do about it and not enough blankets to go around. Kal glances at Atin, propped up against the bed and steps down to wake him up and nods at the bed. Atin blinks up at him when he shakes him, brown eyes quickly alert. 

“Off the floor,” Kal tells him, infusing his voice with a little steel to break through any remaining sleep fog. “Get up there. Your brother’s cold.” They won’t be able to sprawl together, like Ordo and Mereel, lest they aggravate Fi’s injured side, but they can trap shared body heat under the blanket. It’s something, when they’ve got nothing.

Atin’s eyes widen for a moment, but he obeys quickly, carefully easing beside his injured brother and pulling his own blanket over both of them. There’s a carefully reflected pain in his eyes that Kal can't miss. He doesn’t ask, knows it’s likely a combination of his experiences with Vau after Geonosis and the reality that his painful past could have repeated itself today. Of all his boys, Atin takes injuries the hardest. Kal takes a moment in his own mind to curse Walon Vau, colorfully.

Fi’s bleary eyes watch Atin settle in next to him and relaxes deeper into the ratty mattress, exhaling and his breath leveling into something closer to sleep. He looks more comfortable now, Atin curled up beside them. For a moment, it's as though the years have melted away and Kal is back on Kamino, watching six little boys cuddled in a pile, afraid to be more than an arm's length away from each other in those early days. 

“I’ve got him, sir,” Atin whispers, breaking Kal from his memories. His dark eyes are calm and steady, like he wasn’t asleep only minutes ago. The facial scar stands out prominently on his dark skin. “You can get some rest.” It shouldn’t be surprising that the boys look out for him as much as Kal does for them, but they do. Ordo is usually the loudest about it, the most protective, but they all mirror him in one way or the other. The same way Kal will for them. 

He nods, indulging himself one last moment by running his hand through Fi’s hair, through Atin’s. Atin still isn’t quite used to the outward displays of affection, but he’s coming around. It’s been a long road away from Vau, and Kal is determined to keep making progress. Kal pauses at the doorway before he leaves, takes a moment to glance over the four commandos one more time. Fi's breathing is softer, no longer those hard, shuttering breaths, and Atin is with him. Niner and Darman are within reach. It's the safest he could possibly be, right now. 

He spares them one more glance, before returning back to Ordo and Mereel. No matter how quiet he’s been, it’s no surprise to see Ordo awake. His eyes track Kal carefully, always watching. Even when he was small, his awareness was otherworldly. He cocks his head slightly as Kal strips out of his jacket and settles onto his own cot. He has a bad habit of sleeping in a chair instead of a bunk that concerns the boys, they keep pestering him to sleep in an actual bed for once. Ordo kept making worried noises about his knee all day, the cold here isn't helping, so he's willing to concede this to them for at least one night. 

“Everything alright?” Ordo asks, quiet enough to not wake Mereel. 

They're all considered brothers, but Ordo has a special soft spot for Fi. It shows. 

“They’re fine,” Kal affirms. He eases down onto his side, clicking his comm on just in case Jusik gets back sooner than anticipated. His back aches into a short spasm, both knees pop and he lets himself groan quietly at the relief. “Fi’s asleep, now.”

Ordo nods, sagely. He looks like he wants to say more, but then Mereel grumbles, slings his free arm around his brother's side and presses against him, mumbling something that sounds like _go to sleep_. Kal can barely stop a smile. No matter how old they are, they will always be those little boys from Kamino that he would have stepped in front of a blaster for. All of them. 

“Listen to him, _Ord’ika_ ,” he says, settling under his own blanket. The proximity alarms will warn them if anything approaches, and Jusik should be back soon. 

Maybe now, he can get some sleep. 


End file.
